


all that i'm good for

by boobuu



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 12:48:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8402326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boobuu/pseuds/boobuu
Summary: He opens the door to Billy waiting for him, just as he knew Billy would be.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Surprisingly for me, not an AU this time. Last time Goodnight was in control, so I guess it's only fair that Billy's holding the reins in this one.
> 
> You can find me at my [tumblr](http://megajubbly.tumblr.com), where I occasionally post small snippets of writing alongside self-indulgent Billy/Goody photosets.
> 
> For [sphe](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sphesphe/pseuds/sphesphe), encourager of bad ideas.

They ride into another small town, endure all manner of stares and pointed glances until Goodnight brandishes both his money and name to pacifying effect. They scrub off a few week’s worth of dirt and help themselves first to a healthy dinner and then a healthier round of drinks.

Goody’s still posted at the bar, nursing the dregs of his glass when Billy sets his down, tips his hat to the bartender, and ambles upstairs to their room, all casual. Goody feels a warm ball of excitement roll up his spine. Jaws for a bit with the man to his left, turns down the offer of another drink, and finally, _finally_ excuses himself.

He opens the door to Billy waiting for him, just as he knew Billy would be.

———

Billy slings a leg over him, slides on down until he’s bottomed out, one arm braced on Goody’s chest for balance or leverage. Both, maybe. Goody jerks a little, bites back a moan but not the “son of a bitch” that hisses out past it. Wonders when Billy got all slicked up, when he had time; thinks about Billy fingering himself open early on in the night, sitting at the bar all wet and waiting on Goody to finish drinking. Goody breathes hard on the exhale, remembering.

Billy rocks slowly up and down, testing all the springs and screws to make sure nothing makes enough noise to give them away. Wouldn’t be the first time they’d have to make do with the floor instead, or a wall in a pinch, but a real bed’s a fine luxury, especially with Billy perched on top and him filling his gaze.

Billy finds a good, quiet position and shoves down harshly once, twice to make sure of it: nothing, except for what comes out of Goody’s mouth. “Quiet,” Billy orders, faintly amused. Goody glares up at him, but it only makes Billy deepen into amusement—his mouth doesn’t move a twitch, but his eyes crinkle up, and that’s his tell. If you know what to look for, it’s all in his eyes, and Goody’s always looking.

Goody puts his best into shutting up. Boarding house is full up tonight, and although he’d wager that most of the men renting rooms tonight will either be too soused or too distracted to notice, all it takes is one idiot. So he grits his teeth and tries to remember not to swallow his tongue.

———

Most of the time they have to satisfy themselves with something quick and easy. Sleeping out in the open gives them some privacy, but you never know who else could be out there, drawn by the light of a fire. Days of long riding broken up by short stretches of rest don’t leave much time or inclination for anything more inventive.

So it’s hands, most of the time, Goody well-trained enough at this point that the first press of knife calluses against his cock is all it takes to make him arch for it. A long day in the sun capped off by taking a spit-slick hand around both of them, clutching hard at each other and falling asleep easy, a slight space in between bed rolls. Just to be safe.

And if these are unfounded fears, at least paranoia has no dearth of company in their camp, having found friends in both men—Goody and his night terrors a fine match for Billy’s tendency to twitch awake at the slightest provocation. What a pair they make.

———

Billy’s often chary of his praise, but he can’t help but gasp out lovely nonsense about good it feels and how fine Billy looks. Billy lets his eyes drift shut, locked into a steady little rhythm that jerks his long hair back and forth, twitching enough every now and then for Goody to tell he’s paying attention, listening and receptive to Goody’s approval. Goody drags his hands up Billy’s thighs, digs his fingers into the crease of Billy’s hip, feels the slight stutter that causes.

A few breaths, and Billy shoves at Goody’s hands, leans back and fixes the angle until he’s shuddering on the downstroke. Posts one hand behind him and brings the other to his cock, jerks himself ruthlessly and with intent. At this, Goody becomes one long drawn-out whine, clenching his fists and sending his mind skittering off for some thought that will bring him back from the precipice, something that isn’t the sight of Billy look down at him slit-eyed, shoving himself down on Goody’s cock for his pleasure, shaking with the good of it.

Billy comes with a soft exhale, as always looking half-stunned and younger by years, face soft and private. _Just for me_ , Goody thinks. Then Billy is fucking himself through his orgasm, mouth slack and panting hard, and Goody just lets go, nothing else to hold back for: bucks upwards once, twice, and comes looking at Billy’s wet mouth and sharp eyes.

———

They don’t leave the next day or the day after, luxuriating in the small pleasures of being around other folk and ample amounts of liquor. On the third day, they set out again, armed with the vague notion of another town to the north that might have more men looking to unburden themselves of the weight in their wallets.

Billy’s a neat rider on horseflesh, with a curiously pretty seat for an ex-indentured servant turned man on the run. Goody’s a fair rider himself, but he came by that more or less by dint of birth, riding horses with his cousins near as far back as he can remember. Can’t imagine the same is true of Billy, but the man doles out details of his mysterious past one at a time, as if he can’t feel Goody’s curiosity bearing down on him like a physical force.

Three years into this arrangement they have, and there are still so many blank spaces to be filled in.

But Goody is, or was, at least, a sharpshooter, and they are by nature a patient sort. So he waits on Billy, gives him enough space so he won’t spook. 

There’s a part of him that curled up and didn’t wake in the aftermath of Sharpsburg, and with it went all his dreams of a grander life. For a long time, he knew exactly where his next step would take him, and now all of the days and years stretch out long before him, empty except for the fear propelling him forward. And Billy.

He settles in for the long haul, and for Billy to realize it.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from HEM's "All That I'm Good For"
> 
>  
> 
> _Leave my station where I stood_  
>  _To lay for a while with you_  
>  _I got shadows snapping at my tail_  
>  _Who say I'm no damn good_  
>  _But that's just halfway through_  
>  _All that I'm good for is you_
> 
>  
> 
> _You know I play with all those strays_   
>  _Prowling outside your door_   
>  _It's the scraps of love you throw my way_   
>  _That have got me on all fours, I think it's for you_   
>  _All that I'm good for is you, all that I'm good for is you_
> 
>  
> 
> _And I'll leave it behind_   
>  _To lay down with you_   
>  _I'll stop running wild_   
>  _Doing what I used to do_
> 
>  
> 
> _My whole wide world is out of hand_   
>  _So crooked it leaves me cryin'_   
>  _But your love is straight and narrow_   
>  _And it's keeping me in line_   
>  _This love will see me through_   
>  _All that I'm good for is you_   
>  _All that I'm good for is you_


End file.
